


Between Sheets

by orphan_account



Series: Musical 365 [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: DON'T KNOW IF THIS IS T OR M SO IF YOU THINK IT SHOULD BE T LEMME KNOW, Frottage, M/M, also more bad tagging as usualy, anyway I finally updated, i guess, idk if this counts as frottage, if you think that this is missing a tag it needs just let me know it's really easy to change, okay sorry ending sheisty tags now, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To be completely honest, John, I could never hate you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Sheets

**Author's Note:**

> WOOPS  
> I am a horrible person. AHAHA  
> Anyway  
> here is the chapter that I was supposed to have done a few days ago (oops)  
> This time the inspiration is Between Sheets by Imogen Heap (holey buckets, that's not Maroon 5!)
> 
> (also I have no idea why it says it's part five of this series because it definitely is not.)

They tumble into mocha sheets, connected at the lips. A slight _oomph_ from John separates them and Sherlock attaches his mouth to John's throat. Warmth radiates from where John paws at him over his clothing, his hands brushing up his arms and pushing at his shoulders lightly before framing Sherlock's face and bringing it back up to his. Long, lightly calloused fingers make their way under a long sleeved tee and over a soft stomach. Another imagined sticky note is stuck haphazardly to a nonexistent wall in his mind palace, later to be filed away in its proper place with the rest of John; if it survives the fire Sherlock's brain seems to be swept up in. 

Sherlock finds he doesn't particularly _care_ about the heat in his head as John's very real heat is right here, plucking at buttons. Nimble fingers pull from the warmth of John's stomach and pop the buttons open quickly, and Sherlock shrugs off his shirt. Feeling at a disadvantage he pulls John's up over his head as well. They pull apart and admire the other silently until “ _God_.” And they're on each other again.

Sherlock's hands move over John, feeling every inch of his torso. He saves the scar for last, looks to John for approval before touching it. When John nods everything but Sherlock's fingers stop. He maintains eye contact until John looks away and then he bends to the scar, leaves a kiss in the center of it and lets it be. He moves his hands up through John's hair and is flipped on his back. Deep blue eyes wander about his face and John's mouth quirks.

“My turn, Sherlock, s'only fair.” Sherlock is the one to hesitate this time. He blinks away the small amount of dizziness and smirks, unbuttoning his own trousers and pulling his hands back, laying them on either side of his head.

John does with his mouth what Sherlock had done with his hands; he plants kisses after kiss over the plane of Sherlock's stomach. John licks the slight between Sherlock's ribs, where his solar plexus lies beneath his skin. He finishes with a suck on the hollow of Sherlock's throat, cut off by a suddenly moving Sherlock. 

Next thing he knows, John is pinned to the bed, on his stomach and Sherlock is tonguing the exit wound on his shoulder and placing sloppy kisses on the outward ebbing.

“Christ Sherlock, my shoulder is going to-” He breathes out a shuddering sigh as Sherlock pins his arms under one hand and uses the other to reach around John. Sherlock unbuttons John's button on his trouser. Their position makes John's trousers tight and the zipper can't hold: it unzips itself. Sherlock tugs on the waistband and pulls the trousers down over John's arse, leaving it and his pants sticking up in the air.

“This is ridiculous, let go of my arms. Sherlock, really.” 

Sherlock holds them for a second longer, surveying the man beneath him before he complies. John turns back on to his back, seeming to purposefully nudge Sherlock's erection with a knee as he does so. Their faces are flushed, and the tinge brings out phantom freckles on Sherlock's face. John smiles up at him, but levels him with a look that has Sherlock moving from his lap. 

“Sherlock, are we actually doing this?” 

Sherlock breathes in deep and closes his eyes for a moment, before he starts in on a speech he'd been running over through his head for minutes now, knowing this was coming.

“I would like it to, if you would. And don't ask me if I'm sure, I'm always sure. I've never done anything I wasn't sure of, and despite you being able to change so much about me and my life, I really highly doubt you could change that about me, especially when it comes to this. If you think that I'm just saying that, don't I never just _say_ things. And yes, I have done this before, really John. Don't be ridiculous and _don't_ listen to Mycroft. He knows nearly nothing intimate about me. Don't go thinking I'm just saying it's all fine because we're here now and I'm some eager little _virgin_.” His head pulls back as he scoffs. “That's ludicrous. Besides, you said, in the beginning, that it was fine. That it was all fine.”

“Sher-”

“Isn't it fine John? If not it's fine, I can go back out into the living room and you can have a shower and we can wank ourselves off and pretend this never happened. I suppose that's fine too. Not preferable, of course, but still fine. But this- if we did this that would be good. For me I suppose. Knowing you you'd think that you'd have to start doing things together, and talking about our feelings.” He wrinkled his nose. “You think that our entire dynamic would change, and that if we ever stopped one of us would leave and we couldn't be around each other anymore because-”

“Sherlock.”

“-we would hate each other but, to be-”

“ _Sherlock.”_

“-completely honest, I could never hate you, John.”

And then they're staring at each other and the room is quiet but for the pitter patter of rain on the window that neither of them noticed (or, in one's case, acknowledged) until now. 

Sherlock isn't deterred by John's silence, doesn't move to get up. He waits for John's okay, his go ahead. 

A millennium passes before John speaks. When he does, he's grinning mischievously at Sherlock, and the detective finds he likes the look on John. “You're sure?” Sherlock growls and lunges for him, pinning him to the bed by his shoulders and ravaging his mouth. John laughs into the kiss and pulls Sherlock's trousers pants down as far as he can- about mid thigh. He feels the tip of Sherlock's cock brush against his thigh and both breathe in sharply. John is brushed away as he tries to wrap a hand around it as Sherlock rids John of the rest of his clothing as well. After a brief struggle with one trouser leg going over a foot, they're flush against each other. They grind their hips together, rubbing themselves on the other's stomach. They aren't kissing but their lips brush every so often as they breathe the shared, hot air. John's hand is curled in Sherlock's hair and Sherlock is braced on his forearms.

When John reaches his free hand down to wrap it as best as he can around both their pricks, Sherlock mumbles something and John blindly nods in return. His pace is already erratic when he starts; quick and sloppy, painful for a moment before Sherlock shifts. Sherlock's still mumbling unintelligibly into John's ear and John's still nodding when John comes and his pace slows. Sherlock wraps his hand around John and helps to finish himself off, mumbles turning into gasps until it elevates into a groan of _yesjohn! a_ nd he collapses, sticky slick stomachs pressed together.

They know they shouldn't and that it will be worse to clean in the morning, but when Sherlock rolls onto his side, right up against John they fall asleep.

 

!!

 

When John wakes up the next morning, he's not alone for the first time in years and he grins at Sherlock who's tracing patterns (a map of the world? The streets of London? A chemical compound?) on the goose fleshed skin of his back. Sherlock looks to them with a hint of a smile playing on his lips and John kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, if you catch anything in this absolutely raw mess of a fic, drop a comment and let me know because that you be fantabulous.


End file.
